


Who Will Buy

by specialrhino



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/pseuds/specialrhino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this wonderful morning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Will Buy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acalmingcupoftea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acalmingcupoftea/gifts).



Joan walked upstairs to see Sherlock sitting on the stairs, putting on a pair of gold, sparkly heels.

Joan considered returning to the basement, but she was hungry, dammit.

"Hello, Watson," Sherlock said, standing up. He was wearing pale pink skinny jeans.

"Do I even want to know." Joan stared down at his feet. She blinked, and a thought occured to her. "Where did you even get those in your size?"

He dodged the question. "THEM wanted me to do it. I'm to replicate a popular music video from South Korea, apparently."

"Right," Joan said, already leaving for the kitchen. It was too early for this.

Two minutes into her tea's steeping time, the flat filled with korean technopop. Breakfast on the stoop it was, then.

When she closed the door behind her, it was like she was in an entirely different world. Any unassuming, quiet New Yorker (if such a person existed) could be living in that Brownstone.

The air was crisp, the sky was clear, her poached eggs were steaming picturesquely. Somewhere far off in the depths of the city, someone was probably murdering someone else, but it likely would not be Joan's problem. The day was nearly perfect. 

When she was more awake, she would take time to worry about how low her bar was for perfection, these days, but it suited her wonderfully for the moment.

She sighed in contentment and let her chin sink down into the coil of her sloppily wound scarf. Nearly perfect. It was almost suspicious.

A milquetoast voice broke the serenity of the moment.

"Joan!"

She slitted her eyes open and looked up without moving her head. Mycroft was ambling toward her, looking harried by the world and, no doubt, by his piles of money. He was wearing a white suit, though it was well past labor day, and a horizontal striped shirt was visible underneath his blaser. 

His moustache, colorless as the rest of him, drooped at her.

Joan debated going back inside, but wasn't sure whether Korean pop was any better than this. Worst case scenario, he would follow her in, and she would have to deal with both of the Holmes brothers at once. They were in their top form, this morning. Scylla or Charibdys, indeed, as Mrs. Hudson would say.

He opened his mouth to follow up on his hail, crossed the street and the universe made up her mind for her.

He was hit by a passing bus.

Joan sat very still for a moment. She blew on her tea and then poured it into a flowerpot. She went back inside, putting her dishes on the nearest surface. Back to bed. It was too early for this.

 

(She later woke to a congratulatory text from Kitty and a complaining one from Sherlock about how he had to talk to the police in heels and now had responsibility for Mycroft's posessions. "Do you know how much detritus one accumulates in a lifetime, Watson? Far more than I had been aware of."

A month later, she got a cryptic letter implying it had been a late birthday present from Moriarty. It made Joan smile, a little, until she remembered to be horrified.)


End file.
